


Melon Energy

by Chimetals



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2451230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimetals/pseuds/Chimetals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Kureshima brothers picking up the pieces of their relationship after the series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It's tough to raise a child.

That's what Takatora thought as he sipped his tea one morning. He set the cup down, his physical therapy still fresh in his mind; a month ago, he still needed help sitting up.

Mitsuzane was in his room--he hadn't left it much, at least since the elder Kureshima returned home; he didn't know what his younger brother's routine had been while he had been hospitalized. Well, that wasn't quite right; the nurses had babbled about him during Takatora's physical therapy; Mitsuzane had visited every day to care for his brother, bathing him and changing his clothes, even though he was a vegetable with no chance of waking up again. The hospital staff was fond of Takatora's brother, gushing happily over how dutiful and caring he was, despite still being a teenager.

It was the second screaming, neon sign of how much of a mess Mitsuzane had become. The first was when the older Kureshima had first awoken, and his younger brother had cried, but stayed in his seat, across the room.

He sighed and looked out one of the large windows by the entrance. At least Mitsuzane had been eating, and Takatora hadn't noticed anything like self-harm or suicide attempts. His younger brother was a shell of his former self--no, it was more accurate to say he had locked anything resembling his own will away, lest it hurt someone again. He was an obedient doll, barely spoke, barely occupied space--barely existed.

And it was frustrating.

At least he had a clue this time, a starting point, the knowledge needed to not fuck up his brother a second time. Yggdrasil still existed--it had more products and functions than just studying Helheim--and Mitsuzane still had a place at the company, if he wanted it, but...

Takatora stood, pushed his chair neatly under the table, and headed upstairs. He had talked to the remaining riders--ex-riders, really, now that their belts were broken--and especially to Team Gaim's members, piecing together what his brother had really been like, when not playing the role Takatora had forced on him at home. The resulting picture was of a lively boy that acted dutiful at home, sneaking out under the premise of studying to dance as often as possible, and still, somehow, achieving his elder brother's standards at school.

Between that and his behavior after he obtained Takatora's Genesis driver, he was, in short, someone that would go to great lengths to fulfil his will.

Takatora reached his brother's room and knocked quietly; he knew Mitsuzane was inside, he had no need to bang on the door crudely. Soft footsteps approached, followed by the knob turning and the door opening. Mitsuzane was dressed, if Takatora could call it that, in clothes that had to have been buried in his closet, unworn, for years, though his hair was clean and brushed--it was easy to tell, since the younger Kureshima had kept his head down most of the time now, and Takatora saw only the top of his brother's head for most of their interactions.

The older Kureshima couldn't hold back the softest of sighs; he really had no clue where to start with this. Then again, he had been sure he had known what he was doing with Mitsuzane before, and look how that turned out.

He did the only thing he could, the only thing he had managed when he thought about what to say to his brother and realized that words couldn't help him anymore, that they had no more meaning to Mitsuzane than dust on the wind.  
He reached forward and gently pulled his little brother to himself; Mitsuzane neither fought it nor stepped into the hug. He hadn't resisted Takatora in the slightest in days--a perfect doll of his brother. Mitsuzane allowed his head to lean forward slightly and rest on his brother's shoulder; this was the only sign Takatora had that the younger Kureshima still wanted his affection, that his resourceful, dance-loving brother still existed in some form. He continued to hold Mitsuzane, basking in the warmth of his body; if nothing else, they were both alive.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a great day to not exist.

That was Mitsuzane's opinion of the late afternoon sun on his face, at least. The weather was probably excellent, sunny but not hot, with refreshing breezes blowing frequently if not constantly.

It was perfect dancing weather.

And Mitsuzane hated it.

He rolled over in his bed; it didn't actually help, and vengefully he jerked the sheets over his head. He tried to pretend it was marginally better, but finally conceded that the only thing he had managed to do was increase his physical discomfort, his breath making his hiding place muggy. Disgusted, he flung the sheets off and stuffed his face into his pillow with an irritated sigh.

It was stupid, how he could have a bad day when he barely left his room, let alone the house, but he could just tell that today was going to be one of the nastier ones. It was one of the days where the numb fog gave way to emotions--and not just guilt today, it seemed. Oh no, that would be _merciful_.

He'd been over it a thousand times in his mind, the lengthy list of bad decisions and what ifs where he was a half-decent person. The latter were always short-lived; he could picture the immediate reactions of his then-friends, and sometimes a conversation afterwards where they blissfully plotted against the big, bad Yggdrassil or patted each other on the back for... what, exactly, Mitsuzane wasn't sure. At that point it degenerated into rainbows and kindness and bullshit--logically, Kouta's approach would have gotten all of team Gaim killed or turned into Invess or worse--whatever worse was. He couldn't come up with something for that, but he was sure a fate worse than becoming an Invess had existed then, poised to snatch up the idealism-snorting dance team at the first opportunity.

That was another thing Mitsuzane had examined thoroughly--Kouta's uncanny luck. New weapons fell into his lap, top secret information did tap-dances for his amusement, and probability contorted itself to get fucked past recognition by Kouta's groundless hope. Meanwhile, Yggdrassil's lifeboat plan had been abandoned by Takatora, one of the people in charge of it, then sunk by Ryouma, taking Mitsuzane along with it. In the end, Kouta had saved the entire fucking planet, and Mitsuzane had gotten Mai killed.

Ironically, Mai's death was due to his own idealistic trust in Ryouma. Her revival and transcendence of humanity hadn't relieved any of Mitsuzane's emotional fallout, nor should it have. She had died, and it had been his fault.

And that wasn't taking into account him killing his brother, sicking an Invess on Peco, or oh so many other sins he had committed. And he _had_ murdered his brother; asphyxiation from drowning, extensive brain death--he would have never opened his eyes again if Kouta hadn't intervened with his shiny god-powers, acquired with the same ease as the rest of his arsenal. He _knew_ it was Kouta, too; Takatora hadn't mentioned anything about it, but he also hadn't asked a single question about him.

Mitsuzane was contemplating getting out of bed, or maybe just rolling over, when someone knocked on his door. Three light taps--his older brother. He glanced at his clock before deciding to ignore the door; it was between meal times, so Takatora would most likely leave when he didn't get a response. Mitsuzane turned to face the wall, closing his eyes and willing himself to return to the blissfully thoughtless world of sleep. As expected, his efforts weren't working, but it was preferable to admitting he was awake.

He stiffened when he heard the doorknob turn; he didn't lock his door, nor would it accomplish anything, when his brother carried the master key. He couldn't even decisively predict if locking it would make his brother more or less prone to entering his room uninvited.

Mitsuzane shut his eyes; Takatora's footsteps approached the bed, and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. It was hard to accurately feign sleep, not knowing how he actually behaved while unconcious, but the younger Kureshima did his best anyway--after all, the alternative was facing his brother.

The bed shifted as Takatora took a seat by his sibling's back. Mitsuzane could only hope his hands weren't trembling, weren't giving him away.

_Breathe in, breathe out._

Fingers gently pet his hair, brushing it away from his face. Mitsuzane fought his instinct to close his eyes tighter, to block out the meager light that made it through his eyelids, to pretend it wasn't day and his brother wasn't so close to him right now.

_Breathe in, breathe out--slower... slower, damn it!_

Takatora's hand paused mid-stroke. What did his brother's face look like right now? It wasn't fondness--he had no reason to show that face, not after everything Mitsuzane had done--nor would it be the strict expression that had become his default expression for the last several years--the one that said things were normal, that Mitsuzane was meeting expectations like a good brother, that he still was a decent member of society, destined for success.

_In two three four, out two three four, in two three--_

Mitsuzane's body betrayed him with a shudder, turning what should have been a quiet breath into a ragged sob. He could feel his throat tighten and his eyes become hot; his cover blown, the younger Kureshima clenched his eyes shut tighter and turned his face into the pillow before any tears escaped.

Behind him, Takatora let out something slow and barely audible, close to a sigh, and moved his hand to rest on his brother's shoulder. It was easy to feel Mitsuzane's trembling, but he couldn't ease it the way he did when his brother was little. Still, he held the thin shoulder firmly, rubbing Mitsuzane's back with his thumb.

He was so warm--Takatora had been like that when Mitsuzane was little, too. It had always amazed him as a child, how the same genetics could give them such different skin temperatures. Retrospectively, he couldn't help but see it as an indicator of their personalities.

Strangely... Mitsuzane couldn't remember when his brother had stopped having this warmth, or if it was a skewed perception of his. But the hand on his shoulder now didn't feel heavy, like the one that told him to graduate at the top of his class, or join Takatora as an elite member of Yggdrassil.

He bit his lip and gripped the corner of his pillow tightly, forcing himself to calm down. He couldn't lay here forever, and when he inevitably got up, he would still have to face his brother, even though he didn't know how to anymore. For now, at least, he let himself savor the warmth on his shoulder.

Just this once.


	3. I didn't Realize we were Playing Charades

It wasn't what he meant to do, but it wasn't bad, either.

Takatora had gone to extract his brother from his room; according to the staff at the house, Mitsuzane had barely been seen during Takatora's week-long business trip. Being a phantom in his own house wasn't the problem--it was the fact no one had seen more than a piece of bread pass his lips. Therefore, the elder Kureshima's first act upon returning was to get his sibling to eat.

Mitsuzane hadn't responded to the knock on his door; Takatora preferred to let him have his way, hoping it would nurture his will somewhat, but when his brother's physical health--something he could actually handle--was at risk... 

He turned the knob--unlocked--and steeled himself for the worst. The door swung open smoothly, and he crossed the threshold into the room. It was only when he saw Mitsuzane on the bed, alive, that Takatora realized he had been holding his breath. He quietly moved to sit by his sibling; the younger Kureshima was faking sleep, so Takatora took the opportunity to pet him. It had helped his brother get through nightmares as a child--hopefully it would work on the waking one he had created, too. 

Mitsuzane's face trembled slightly, fighting to maintain his charade despite the mutiny his emotions were staging. Takatora put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, rubbing his back slightly with his thumb. A crack began to spread across Mitsuzane’s act, and he hid his face in his pillow. As he hadn’t pulled away from Takatora’s touch, the elder Kureshima continued to massage his sibling’s back until his brother relaxed into actual sleep. He sighed lightly at himself for failing to accomplish his goal, then quietly left the room. 

He descended to the first floor, logging into the laptop in his study and wading through his email. His inbox had become an endless stream of questions, demands, scathing hate, and even death threats since Helheim's assault and evacuation. Several of the Yggdrassil employees that managed the general company email had resigned for nondescript reasons; Akira Kazuraba, one of the few souls still brave enough to open the cesspool, had confessed that the nastier messages were to blame. 

Takatora raised an eyebrow at a particularly vulgar one--the employees’’ departure was understandable, especially when their age was considered. Managing the general email consisted of forwarding it to the correct department, and so was left mostly for kids Mitsuzane's age to do as part-time work. As the one previously in charge of the Helheim countermeasures, Takatora had told Akira and her co-workers to forward anything related to the forest to his personal email. He didn't regret it, but... well, there were considerably more messages than he anticipated. 

Muffled footsteps above interrupted an elaborately worded, personal threat to Takatora--Mitsuzane was awake again, and luckily not still in his bed. The elder Kureshima left his computer as it was; no one in the house would infringe on it, and even if they tried, the contents of his inbox was enough protection as far as he was concerned. 

Takatora asked the kitchen staff--little more than the chef's apprentice, really--to put a quick meal together, something easy on the stomach. He then returned upstairs and knocked on his brother's bedroom door--two short taps.  
"Mitsuzane, come down for dinner." He headed for the stairs, not waiting for his brother--he had discovered that Mitsuzane left his room quicker when Takatora wasn't there to greet him. 

The elder Kureshima sighed, thankful that in this matter, the empty husk of his brother was still so obedient--as long as Takatora ordered him to, he'd at least sit at the table and nibble some food. It didn't matter what the meal was--even if it was all of his favorites, on a bad day he'd barely pick at it. Unfortunately, according to the chef, this wasn't the first time he'd neglected to eat for several days; it had been worse when Takatora had still been in the hospital. Somehow, Mitsuzane hadn't died of starvation, but his already thin frame had lost a noticeable amount of weight. 

While waiting for the sound of his brother's quiet footsteps on the stairs, Takatora left the dining area for the lounge space on the other side of the room. It was a simple arrangement of an L-shaped couch, coffee table, and loveseat, bordered with a cabinet and bookshelves, but the lighting and open space surrounding it made it a favorite place of both Kureshimas for reading or playing games. Takatora opened the cabinet, exposing an assortment of card decks and game boards. He reached for the chess sets, then paused, unsure of which to use. 

The first was a beautiful set he had ordered the day he became Zangetsu. Elaborately carved and polished, the pieces were made of marble and jade, and inlaid carefully with hints of silver. The board was crafted from the same, a white base with green squares, silver interjecting at the places they met. Jade vines surrounded the playing field, their tangles and fine leaves elevated just above the board's flat surface, entwined with thin strips of silver and bearing amethyst fruits. The box for the pieces was the same, crisp marble with the jeweled vines even more prolific, running around the edges and across the surface. The inside was emerald-colored velvet, embroidered with metallic thread to match the exterior patterns. 

It portrayed Helheim wonderfully, and whenever he saw it, Takatora felt the same wild exhilaration as the first time he laid eyes on the forest. Simultaneously, it was man-made, as if to predict humanity's victory and taming of the otherwise invasive life. It suited Yggdrasil and himself perfectly, and looked flawless when set up on a glass table. 

The other chess set was a relatively cheap thing, the pieces and board battered and worn from years of use, each army ranging in color and following a completely different design. Where other inhabitants of the cabinet had been replaced over the years, Takatora had kept this childhood memory. Each army hand-crafted by its user, it was the set he had learned to play with, and the one he had used to teach Mitsuzane. 

His games against his brother had been carved into it, the wooden pieces discolored with age or their stain worn off where they were touched most. The plain, wooden box that held them was practically falling apart, the latch that kept it shut long since broken and the hinges not far from the same fate. The board had been no better; like the box, its surface had been scratched and its edges scuffed thoroughly from being slid into and out of its homes; desks, cabinets, dressers--it had even lived under Takatora's bed for several years, when he and Mitsuzane still shared a room in their first house. 

The memories made the corners of Takatora's mouth tighten in the faintest of smiles. His decision made, he pulled out the chess set and began setting it up on the coffee table. With how he had been acting, Mitsuzane wouldn't be down for a while longer. 

The older Kureshima could have set up the second board by the time his brother left the second floor. It wouldn't have been farfetched to say he could have prepared a game of Chinese Checkers and played a round of solitaire, too. Instead, he waited at the head of the table, sipping a glass of water while the cook put the final touches on the meal. 

Movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention, and he glanced over to spot Mitsuzane descending the stairs with all the racket of an elusive phantom. He took the seat at the other end of the table--the farthest possible from his brother, but for once, this was "normal". Takatora carefully took in the other Kureshima's appearance; he seemed to have run his fingers through his bedhead rather than bother with a brush, but had at least changed his clothes. Takatora briefly wondered how long his brother had worn the previous outfit, then decided it was better not to know. 

The cook noticed Mitsuzane's presence and brought out two bowls of a simple rice gruel with bits of chicken and vegetables mixed in. Takatora tasted a spoonful--the rice had been prepared with soup stock rather than water--the same meal the brothers were served while they were sick. Mitsuzane’s body seemed to have won against whatever emotional hole he had fallen in this time; he ate as though each spoonful of food contained shards of glass-- 

_No_ , Takatora corrected himself--he had the sinking feeling that Mitsuzane would eat _more_ if it would cause him pain. The way his brother picked at it was more akin to his meal being full of love and joy--which, to be fair, wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Eventually, Mitsuzane decided that fourteen spoonfuls--Takatora had counted--was enough, and switched to barely prodding the contents of his bowl. 

"You know..." Takatora broke the silence as he removed his napkin from his lap and placed it on the table, "it's been a while since our last game of chess." He tried to make it sound natural, coincidental, but the board had been in a cabinet for months now and they both knew it.  
After a couple seconds, Mitsuzane responded with a meager nod.  
“Mmn, well...the board is already set up, so we might as well play a game, right?” 

Not waiting for another lackluster response, the elder Kureshima led the way to their gameboard, the wooden coffee table itself. It was downright ragged compared to the other furniture in the house, but Takatora had refused to leave it behind; its checkerboard pattern made from two types of wood served as the board to the older chess set. The original board had been lost during one of the Kureshimas' moves to yet another house, the battered pieces spared by a young Mitsuzane that had insisted on personally holding the box when they travelled. 

Takatora took a seat on the larger couch, by his "white" pieces. They were closer in color to sand, lighter than the "white" squares on the table, and the second-lightest army of the wooden pieces. The lightest belonged to his father, who used an identical wood, but hadn't stained his army--it guaranteed that he'd always move first, and he believed the pieces should be dyed by use alone. 

Mitsuzane took his place by his army; an already dark wood, they had been stained a deep maroon--or at least, that's the color they wound up. His expression didn’t change, but for a moment, Takatora felt that his eyes flared up with disdain; the elder Kureshima was unaware that the previously inconspicuous color was an exact match to Ryuugen’s Yomi form. 

The elder Kureshima made the first move, a knight relocating in front of his frontline. His brother started with a pawn--his usual opening, it could produce a checkmate early in the game if his opponent wasn't paying proper attention. It was a stark contrast to the haphazard movements he would make as a child, and Takatora let his small smile re-emerge in nostalgia.  
"Remember when we first got this table?" He slid a rook sideways from its starting position--an impossible move on a normal game board. Mitsuzane nodded the tiniest amount.  
"You forgot where the boundaries were and put a bishop three spaces off the edge of the board." 

Takatora winced playfully; the table had no markings to distinguish the edges of a typical chess board, and within the first day of using it, had led to a near-shouting match between the brothers over Takatora's move. Ever since, they had played a modified version of the game, utilizing the entirety of the table.  
"Well, I remember a certain someone crying nonstop when we lost the old board." He teased back.  
Mitsuzane responded by taking one of his brother's pieces. The conversation hung awkwardly, and unsure how to continue, Takatora began playing as quietly as his sibling. 

As the game progressed, Takatora discovered that Mitsuzane had improved since he became a rider; his pieces were better-defended, and Takatora was finding it impressively difficult to reduce his brother's army. He paused, in the middle of moving a pawn; he knew what the difference was. Mitsuzane was playing with a more reserved style, bordering on pacifistic. He wasn't forcing his way aggressively into Takatora's ranks--rather, Takatora was the one turning his pieces into a spearlike formation in an attempt to break the defensive wall in front of him. 

Even with his complete focus on the game, the elder Kureshima began to be pushed back. Assaults that simultaneously targeted two pieces whittled down his army, and it seemed like it would be a rare win for Mitsuzane. The younger Kureshima put a piece too far out on his next turn, leaving it undefended. Confirming that it wasn't a trap, Takatora snatched at the opportunity and claimed the piece. 

Two turns later, Mitsuzane made a nearly identical mistake. 

This time, Takatora ignored it; Kureshimas didn't screw up that frequently. Appropriately, his brother moved a piece to fix his previous error...but had left the guarding piece vulnerable. The older Kureshima scowled--the acute lack of strategy was most likely unintentional, but the sudden way the logic had bottomed out...

"Mitsuzane." A part of Takatora protested the intonation of the name--the same frigid tone he had used when he tried to put Mitsuzane down like a rabid dog--but the way his brother had acted since Takatora returned had been increasingly grating. 

The younger Kureshima's eyes--which had previously scanned the board mechanically--now stared vacantly at the table, confirming Takatora's suspicions. He had relapsed--badly. 

_One step forward, two steps back._

He waited, not wanting to coddle his brother in this matter; he was sick of Mitsuzane tying every situation to their fight, turning into this _doll_ whenever Takatora so much as made eye contact with him. But what was he supposed to say--'you can't mope like this forever'? 'Is this how a Kureshima acts'? It was the same kind of garbage that had pushed Mitsuzane into leading a double life in the first place. Takatora sighed, closed his eyes, and massaged his temple. 

“Sorry.” He murmured; when he looked back at his brother, Mitsuzane’s gaze had lowered to the floor. Takatora decided a topic change was in order. “You’ve improved--have you been practicing?”  
The younger Kureshima’s eyes fluttered a bit before barely shaking his head.  
“No, huh…” Takatora echoed softly, eyeing the graveyard of his pieces. 

After a few minutes of awkwardly sitting in silence, Mitsuzane stood and began to slink off to his own room.  
“One last thing, Mitsuzane.” the younger Kureshima halted and waited; Takatora bit his lip slightly, hesitating before continuing. He let a hint of frustration enter his tone, “Don’t _ever_ hold back against me again.”  
Mitsuzane didn’t respond, but resumed the route to his room. Takatora winced slightly as he watched his brother leave; it might have been his imagination, but he thought Mitsuzane’s pace had quickened. He sighed and absentmindedly examined the remnants of the chess game; hopefully he hadn’t just doused what was left of his brother’s spark.


	4. Chapter 4

"If you don't like who you are, then become someone else."

The morning sun lit Mitsuzane's room with a pleasant warmth; he blinked slowly, half-heartedly wishing to fall asleep each time his eyes shut. It wasn't the worst of his recurring nightmares; the day Takatora woke up was actually the most pleasant one. Even so, returning to dreams made of memories had never been appealing.

"Become someone else, huh..." he murmured, echoing the memory of his brother’s voice, "...what do you think I was trying to do...?" Idly, he rolled over to glance at his clock. Ugh--he wasn’t usually awake at this hour. He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes; he could still join his brother for breakfast. Takatora would surely be pleased to see him up so early, right?

He didn’t bother changing out of the shirt he had slept in; if he managed to leave the house, he’d change it before then--it hadn’t been worn  _ that _ long. Probably. He put on the first pair of jeans he saw--they were soft, which meant they had been worn for a few days already, but on the other hand, they were comfortable--and more importantly, convenient.

Mitsuzane padded silently down the stairs to the main floor; he was aware of how pathetic it was, but his carefully honed ability to completely erase his presence had become a--small--point of pride for him. He had been quite smug about it as a Beat Dancer--despite his skill level back then being as unnoticeable as Raid Wild in Charmant--but now he was even capable of sneaking up on his brother. Sometimes, at least--but it was considerably more often than never.

Takatora was at the far end of the lengthy table, sipping coffee and solemnly taking in the state of the world from the newspaper in his hand. Mitsuzane had almost gotten to his own seat when his brother noticed his presence; in his peripheral vision, Mitsuzane saw him do a double take, then a quick gesture to the chef’s aide to fetch something for the younger Kureshima. Takatora set his reading material down and cleared his throat quietly before speaking.   
“Any plans for the day?”   
“...not really.”

The elder Kureshima sipped his drink thoughtfully for a moment; Mitsuzane stared out the window at the plants in the garden--the weather really  _ was _ nice today.   
“What would you think of coming with me for a change?”   
The chef's aide emerged from the kitchen with a glass of juice for Mitsuzane while his meal was being prepared; the younger Kureshima took a taste--a fruit-vegetable blend, its components unidentifiable--and debated how to respond.

The house had a certain feeling on his better days, as though it was a showcase building--posed to appear lived in, but upon closer inspection was as sterile and welcoming as the elder Kureshima’s hospital room. Days like these, Mitsuzane was more inclined to wander Zawame,  lose his sense of identity in its crowd--and then inevitably find himself at Gaim’s dance stage. Takatora took a sip of his drink while his brother toyed with his answer; he had a mouthful of coffee when Mitsuzane spoke.

”...sure.”

Takatora had to put effort into swallowing; Mitsuzane was certain that anyone less disciplined would have projectile-spat their drink.   
“--Good.” Takatora managed after a moment. He still hadn’t wiped the dumbfounded expression off his face, but, again, he was infinitely more composed than, say, Kouta would have been. Deciding the conversation had ended, he resumed his earlier reading.

The chef’s assistant emerged again with some toast and some scrambled eggs. Mitsuzane nibbled on the toast; how  _ was _ Kouta doing right now, anyway? As far as Mitsuzane had been able to tell, Gaim’s leader hadn’t returned to earth for even a brief visit. It didn’t seem like Kouta--not that he could claim he really knew what Kouta was like; the way he reacted to Ryuugen’s Yomi form had revealed as much. Even so, Mitsuzane found it hard to believe the other boy hadn’t snuck back to at least see how his team was doing.

Mitsuzane started on the eggs, before they got too cold; Kouta could very well have dropped by, actually--just not at the Kureshima house, where Mitsuzane had been constantly holed up. Not that the younger Kureshima could blame him; he’d rather not have to deal with himself, either. He picked at the remainder of the toast, his thoughts taking their inevitable route away from Kouta:

How was Mai, right now? Was she eating enough?  _ Could _ she eat, with that ghostly body he had last seen her with? He gave up on the toast, a wave of nausea surfacing with the memory of Mai’s dead face and Ryouma gloating about how he had used Mitsuzane so easily. He sipped some juice to clear the taste in his mouth and wondered if his friends ever thought about earth the way he thought about them.

He tried to imagine it--Mai and Kouta, their bodies like sun deities, surrounded by Helheim’s lush foliage and brilliantly colored fruits. In his mind, they each plucked a proto-lockseed, skillfully pulling it open enough to eat while leaving enough of its hull to retain the fruits’ beauty. Basked in sunlight, he saw Mai bite into it gently--not like Hase, or Yuuya, or the dozens of other victims Mitsuzane had seen on Yggdrasil's surveillance videos. Kouta was a little less…..graceful; he treated the fruit like an apple, but like Mai, ate it without getting the juice all over his face or hands.

Mitsuzane set his glass down, leaning back in his chair to signify that he was done; Takatora, who had finished long before him, placed his newspaper on the table while the chef’s assistant took their plates, then stood and headed for the stairs. Mitsuzane got up and followed him--his brother gave off a certain vibe when he was trying to lead. He was brought to Takatora’s room; the elder Kureshima crossed to his closet with a forced casualty that would have sent his younger brother into a sprinting retreat if he hadn’t thought it was due to his own change in behavior, and pulled out the last thing Mitsuzane had wanted to see again.

That  _ fucking  _ suit.

Objectively, it made no sense--it hadn’t caused any of Mitsuzane’s actions, but the younger Kureshima would have rather seen  _ Redyue _ pulled out of Takatora’s closet. And Takatora, damn him, had the nerve to stride over and act like he had never seen Mitsuzane with it before, going so far as to hold it up to his sibling and remark that it would fit him. The younger Kureshima averted his gaze from the cursed thing; what lunatic idea had crawled into his brother for him to attempt  _ this _ ?!

And yet, Takatora, in his infinite  _ naivete _ , either wasn’t picking up on the folly of his actions, or was stubbornly trying to run with them. Mitsuzane fought to remain calm, but the room didn’t have enough air; Takatora was saying something--words, words, words, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, put it back put it back put it back put it back put it back  _ put it back _ \--

Takatora touched his brother’s head gently; it was too drastic a change from what was  _ inside _ that head, and Mitsuzane’s body went on autopilot. It didn’t matter if he took the  _ thing _ pressed against his chest; any feeling of reality had long since bottomed out--the situation was just another nightmare, another horribly lucid nightmare, he just hadn’t noticed until now; he would wake up any moment now, to the late afternoon sun, his brother long gone to work--

Mitsuzane didn’t realize he had been biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted the blood; the world still felt false, like a movie with bad acting, but the dull pain in his mouth asserted otherwise. He could take the suit, but when the fogginess wore off-- _ if _ it wore off, then--then--no, it was impossible, absolutely impossible. Mitsuzane couldn’t even imagine what his emotions would be--just thinking about it make the numb feeling worse, made him want to tear gashes into his own skin just to snap out of it.

He glanced up at his brother’s reflection, mentally begging whatever was in charge of this hellhole of a planet to change Takatora’s mind; their eyes met, and Mitsuzane could feel the fog retreating--if Takatora didn’t take the object in his hands  _ right now _ , then--

Mitsuzane blinked slowly at the floor, the suit no longer in his hands; Takatora had somehow crossed the room and taken it without the younger Kureshima noticing. He was saying something now, in a voice so kind--too kind--that Mitsuzane had to fight to not break down on the spot. He nodded weakly at his older brother, the words not registering fully, and ducked out of the room at the first opportunity.


	5. Chapter 5

Mitsuzane wasn't going to like this.

Despite this knowledge, Takatora led his brother to his room after breakfast; Mitsuzane had begun functioning enough for this idea to be feasible, though Takatora hadn't expected his brother to agree to it, as his progress had plateaued for the last week. The younger Kureshima followed obediently, unaware his elder brother was going to test the extent of that obedience.

Takatora crossed over to his closet, opened it, and tentatively pulled one of his suits out; it was smaller, from a time he was Mitsuzane's height. He kept it around in case his brother needed it.

It was also, unfortunately, the same one Mitsuzane had used while in possession of Takatora's Genesis driver.

As he turned to Mitsuzane with it, he saw recognition and horror flare up in his dark eyes. Even the dormant parts of the younger Kureshima woke up and recoiled at the sight of the outfit; it was the most alive Takatora had seen his brother since he woke up in the hospital.

And despite the almost phobic response, the way Mitsuzane seemed frozen in place by terror and the desperate desire to be the obedient sibling, the way his fear required  _ all _ of Mitsuzane instead of the fragment he had become--despite all this, Takatora pressed the suit to his brother's chest.

"...the size still seems alright." He muttered to himself, as though pretending not to notice his sibling's discomfort would dispel its existence. Mitsuzane's gaze moved slowly down from the suit to the floor; he didn't move to accept the outfit, so Takatora continued to hold it to his brother's chest. Mitsuzane had remained stubborn in some areas, but the elder Kureshima decided to push back.

"It'll be fine." He added as kindly as he could. He still hadn't fully adjusted to convincing Mitsuzane into action, but he couldn't lecture his brother and assume his will would be done; it hadn't worked in the first place, anyway. He pet Mitsuzane's hair with his other hand as he added, "trust me." 

Takatora pressed the suit more firmly into his brother's chest, and this time, for whatever reason, Mitsuzane wrapped his arms numbly around it. He still refused to look at the suit, moving his gaze to the side. 

It didn't dispel the knot in his gut, but it was the most Takatora could hope for. The elder Kureshima moved to his full-length mirror, adjusting his collar and putting his own suit jacket on while keeping an eye on his brother over the shoulder of his own reflection. He tried to suppress a slight sigh at the result of his actions; what little color Mitsuzane's face had had drained out completely--his cheeks were the same shade as Takatora's shirt. Unsure what to do to change his brother's complexion, he resorted to aimless chatter.

"I'm afraid it's not the most attractive job--desk work, filing papers, entering things in the computer--nothing to worry about." In the corner of the mirror, he saw Mitsuzane’s lips move, saying something the elder Kureshima couldn’t hear. Takatora turned, taking in and analyzing his brother, waiting. Mitsuzane shook his head, barely and hesitantly at first, but quickly escalating into a decisive denial. It was the same level of rejection he had shown when his brother had taken him to Helheim’s ruins. Dark, terrified eyes met and held Takatora’s gaze for the first time since--the elder Kureshima couldn’t even remember. It felt like his younger brother hadn’t willingly made eye contact since they’d been reunited. Mitsuzane’s voice was barely a whisper.

“I can’t.”

Takatora blinked; the last--no, the  _ only _ time he could remember his brother directly telling him “no” was when he tried to kill Takatora with his own Genesis driver. The Mitsuzane in front of him posed no danger of trying to skewer him with an energy arrow---gripping the suit’s hanger tightly enough to turn his knuckles white, his older brother could see the way he was trembling from across the room--but the sudden and open exhibition of will still caused Takatora to pause momentarily. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“I understand.” He stepped forward and relieved his younger sibling of his burden, “I prepared a second job at a Yggdrasil-affiliated hospital just in case. They’ll supply the work uniform, so get dressed in whatever you like.” Mitsuzane nodded once and left the room; he seemed relaxed and almost happy about it--or at least, that’s what Takatora gleaned from the resumption of his usual masklike expression. 

As Mitsuzane left for his own room, Takatora wondered if this was how zoo-keepers felt when they removed large snakes from the shoulders of petrified teenagers.


End file.
